


Once was I made of glass (long ago before I cracked)

by crookedspoon



Series: Jason Rare Pair Challenge [1]
Category: Batman: Arkham Knight
Genre: Hand Jobs, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Selfcest, Time Travel Fix-It, Torture, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-31 08:02:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20111809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crookedspoon/pseuds/crookedspoon
Summary: Jason screams. He has never screamed so much before in his life – and he's been doing a lot of screaming lately. His voice is hoarse from it, his throat raw. Every sound coming out of it hurts more, but he can't stop screaming.





	Once was I made of glass (long ago before I cracked)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for "Dark fic" on my Batfam Bingo card and the JayxJay Selfcest Challenge, which I'm assuming also counts for the Jason Rare Pair Challenge.
> 
> Many thanks to Rivkae_Winters for the beta!

Jason screams. He has never screamed so much before in his life – and he's been doing a lot of screaming lately. His voice is hoarse from it, his throat raw. Every sound coming out of it hurts more, but he can't stop screaming.

The pain comes in pulses, although it's like it never ends. Just when he's had the tiniest moment to breathe, another wave hits. He's not sure what's worse, the sound that's like a cross between a very insistent fly and hot oil sizzling in a pan, or the way his muscles lock up and convulse, a little harder each time.

He's jerking in his seat, rattling his shackles, rubbing his wrists and ankles raw. At the height of the pain, he's no longer screaming, jaw clenched so tightly he might crack a molar. He's no longer breathing either, just sucking air through his teeth and blowing it right out again, spittle turned to froth at the edges of his mouth.

Along with the tension, the panic rises. He's suffocating; his insides feel like they're liquefying, his like they're about to pop out of his skull. All he can do is hold on. Hold on and pray he makes it to the other side.

And then the other side of what comes next. Again and again. He doesn't know if the intervals of respite are getting shorter, the moments of shock longer, but it certainly feels like it. The final pulse is the worst because it's the longest. 

Just as Jason is about to crack, everything shuts down, and for a second he thinks he must have passed out.

He slumps forward, barely able to catch his breath. It's better that way. His lungs are burning and the smell of urine fills the air. Great, he fucking pissed himself. Shame spikes through him, but not much. At this point, he lacks the energy to feel anything beyond relief.

Even without the electric current running through him, his muscles are still twitching. His body is heavy and cumbersome, unable to move, much less hold itself upright. Exhausted tears roll down his cheeks. Even that is too much stimulation.

Jason nearly jumps when a hand grasps his shoulder.

"You think I won't break you."

The distorted voice is grating like the static in his ears. Jason tries to muster a glare, but can't even lift his head.

"You think you can handle everything I throw at you." The hand squeezes Jason's shoulder. Pins and needles shiver up his neck and the side of his face.

"Isn't that the point?" Jason rasps. He's so tired. He just wants to lie down. Curl up on the floor, ignoring the gravel that would dig into his skin. "You do to me whatever you have to, and leave Batman alone."

"You think Bruce is going to thank you for your sacrifice?" Computerized as it is, his captor's scoff sounds like ripping fabric. "Think again. Bruce is not even looking for you right now. He doesn't care."

"It's not true!"

"You're too trusting." The hand is massaging him now, rubbing the back of his neck, siphoning the tension right out of him.

It's hard to think when his mind is buzzing almost as much as his skin, when every touch breeds a desire for more, for strong hands kneading the soreness from his bones and new bruises onto the old. "You're just saying that... to make me doubt him."

"Fine. Even if he came looking for you, he won't find you here. The walls block out that little tracker signal of yours, so for all he knows, his little Robin ran away because he didn't want to be with him any longer."

Jason shakes his head. Bruce wouldn't think that; he'd come for Jason until he was certain Jason didn't want to see him. And even then, he'd stay close by to watch, to make sure Jason didn't get into trouble he couldn't get out of himself. Bruce would never abandon him.

"I know what you're thinking now. You're thinking that he wouldn't give up looking for you, that as long he didn't know what had happened, he'd keep searching." This time, the scoff is less severe. Jason lifts his head to see that Jay had taken off his helmet. His face is pale, his eyes sunken and dark, the tips of his bangs spiky with sweat. "He didn't come looking for _me. _Instead, he got himself a new Robin at the next best opportunity. Don't think he won't do the same again, because he will."

Unmodulated, Jay's voice is softer, easier on Jason's ears, despite the steel edge of his barely restrained anger. The stark contrast to before makes it more intimate somehow, like a caress down Jason's spine. The voice of a lover murmuring encouragements before they kiss your shoulder, your neck, the shell of your ear. Before they slip a knife between your ribs. 

Jason shudders.

He wonders if any of this were worse if it were Jay doing it – it _is _Jay doing it, but he's hidden behind an impersonal mask; that makes it easier to pretend he's a bad guy meaning harm instead of... his future self come back to prepare him for what's to come – wonders if hearing Jay's tired voice, his broken voice, hearing his emotions quiver in it unfiltered would make Jason's resolve waver.

He'd seen the amount of damage that Jay's body has sustained, at least on the surface. That first night, Jay had stripped off his chest armor to show him the scar on his elbow where Willis had fractured his arm so the bone poked through the skin, or the jagged puncture wound just above the kidney where Willis had used a broken beer bottle against him, or the burns on the back of his shoulder where Catherine had attacked him with a candle during one of her fits.

Jason didn't listen to the stories – yeah, he'd been there and yeah, he'd tried to put them out of his mind since then, thank you ever so fucking much for reminding him. He barely even notices the scars are there anymore; they've faded into the general landscape of his skin, standing out no more than an individual blade of grass. There are new ones that stand out more, ones he can be proud of to have received, badges of honor from his time helping Bruce.

Jason didn't listen, but his eyes were focused intently on all the _other _scars that made up Jay's skin. It was difficult not to stare. He'd seen the scar tissue that Bruce's wounds had formed – bullet holes in the shape of discs or stars, the raised lines of knife punctures, the white and pink of burn scars, like melted wax. Jay's skin was covered in the same, and more besides, scars with stories Jason couldn't even begin to imagine. And likely wouldn't want to.

Jason's stomach twists whenever he thinks of it, whenever Jay fills in just another blank of what happened to him. Of what is going to happen to Jason.

He doesn't think he can do this. He doesn't think he can be strong like Jay wants him to be. He wants to save him so bad, make all the horror he suffered go away, but he's hurting so much already. He wakes up sore every morning, if he was lucky enough to catch some fitful sleep at all, pushes himself through school, through training, through patrol. 

And then this. Building up tolerance or so Jay calls it. If he's used to pain, Joker can't break him anymore. It's bullshit. Jason wonders why he ever listened.

Frustrated tears stream down Jason's face. He just has no buffer anymore. 

"Hey, kid." Jay shakes him. "You're not giving up yet, are you?"

"Untie me."

Jay does. He kneels down in front of Jason and loosens the straps. Jason slumps gratefully into Jay's arms, slinging his own around his shoulders and holding onto him. He doesn't know if he is seeking comfort or trying to provide it.

The worst of it is that he doesn't know if he _can _provide comfort to Jay, after all he's been through, but Jason is not easily deterred.

His fingers curl into the damp hairs at Jay's neck as he noses along Jay's cheek, heart beating like a hammer. He pulls back just enough to look Jay in the eyes, the way he always does to make his intentions known. Jason has always reacted negatively to touch, especially touch he didn't anticipate. Jay fares no better and understandably so, given what he's been through – which is why Jason has to let this be on his terms.

Even if he really, really needs to kiss Jay. It's like his need to breathe, urgent and physical and ultimately fatal if not acted upon.

But it's like Jay knows, because he gives Jason this.

It starts as a soft press of lips, the way it always does, as though Jay were giving Jason the chance to back out again, as though he himself were having second thoughts, as though he believed he shouldn't – as though anything that has the potential to feel good is not for him.

Jason makes a small noise in the back of his throat to remind Jay he's not doing this for himself; he's doing it for Jason. That seems to be enough. Jay claims his lips in a kiss that is just shy of bruising and Jason is _ecstatic._

Jay's tongue is hot against his own and it's all Jason can focus on. Suddenly, the soreness in his muscles, the droning in his head, the jittery ache in his heart, it all seems to melt away when Jay surges forward and kisses him like his sanity depends on it.

Jason thinks his might.

He bucks up with a cry when Jay touches him. He hadn't even noticed how hard he is until Jay tugged his pants down and his erection got in the way. Now all he can do is cling to Jay's shoulders and pant into his mouth, overwhelmed by the sensations Jay's hand elicits of him. It's dry and rough, desperate in a way that Jason is not, but Jason is past caring. He needs this release and he's too sensitive to last much longer than two seconds.

Jason comes with an embarrassingly keen whimper, twitching and trembling almost as much as he had when the electricity shot through him. He feels just as drained after, when the adrenaline ebbs and the exhaustion rolls back over him. The static in his brain remains, but it's okay, there's only one thing he needs to be clear on.

Weakly, he grabs Jay's arms when he tries to move away.

"Wanna make you feel good, too." His voice is faint, his speech slurred, but he thinks he gets his point across just fine.

Jay scoffs. "You can't even keep your teeth apart. Not sure how that's gonna help."

"Just..." Jason swallows. "Just use me, if you want."

Jay ruffles his hair and sparks of pleasure erupt across Jason's skin. "Some other time, kid."

"Stop calling me kid." Jason is too tired to swat Jay's hand away. "Like you're that much older."

Jay peers at him through narrowed eyes, but says nothing. Instead, he hoists Jason up into his arms. "Come on, let's get you fixed up and on your way."

Jason doesn't care if he feels like he's being treated like a toddler who can't be trusted on his own feet. Which, to be fair, Jason can't be, not now. He'd just collapse onto the floor and not move for the next twenty-four hours. At least, he'd want to not move for a while. He's not looking forward to getting up for school in the morning. If it's a school day in the morning. His brain is too fried to remember. Either way, he's going to be so stiff, with a headache from hell thrown into the mix.

It doesn't matter. Not as long as Jay is holding him, his warmth seeping into Jason and adding to the settling relaxation he feels.

"You did good, by the way," Jay murmurs into his ear.

A spike of heat slices through Jason and he doesn't know if he shivers because of the praise or because Jay is stroking his hair. It's words like this that make him want to try harder next time.

Jason buries his head deeper into Jay's shoulder and lets himself be lulled by the swaying of his steps.

"Good, because I don't want you to suffer anymore," is the last he mumbles before he drifts off.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Milk of Regret" by Otep.
> 
> Sorry there wasn't more smut; this thing fought me tooth and nail. <del>I might revisit for more some other time but no promises!</del>


End file.
